


Nezumi's Judgement

by Vox (Akumeoi)



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: Courtroom AU, Dreams, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-10 16:56:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2032713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akumeoi/pseuds/Vox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nezumi fights his own survival instincts in an attempt to convince himself to (not) return home to Shion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nezumi's Judgement

The scene: A courtroom, where the judge is a young, pale, unnaturally handsome young man with piercing grey eyes and a dangerous smile. He wears a flowing black robe, but he hasn’t made an effort to make his thick, blue-black hair resemble the traditional judge’s wig, short of curling his side bangs around the gavel just moments ago. His name is Nezumi.

The prosecutor is an old woman, hazy at the edges, with a stern, controlled expression which could burst into anger at any minute. Every so often, a trickle of blood escapes from the corner of her mouth, and she licks it away, apparently unperturbed. The old woman does not have a name.

The defendant hasn’t been brought out yet. Neither is there a lawyer for the defense.

The courtroom has no jury. The outcome of the trial will be decided by the judge, and the judge alone. The front row of the gallery contains witnesses: A young, brown-skinned androgyne with tangled black hair and tattered clothing. A bland-faced girl in a wool sweater, with bee wings growing from her back. A scruffy-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair, a thin moustache, and a beer gut. A motherly woman with flour on her nose. A white-haired old man with no legs. They are all, like the old woman, a bit fuzzy around the edges, but they will be brought into relief as need be throughout the trial.

The plaintiff has appeared, and seated himself at the appropriate stand. In spite of the absence of the defendant and the defense, it seems that the arrival of the plaintiff heralds the beginning of the trial. The plaintiff is a young, pale, unnaturally handsome young man with piercing grey eyes and a thundercloud frown. That’s right, the plaintiff is also Nezumi.

That’s because this trial is taking place inside Nezumi’s mind.

“The court will now come to order,” says the judge. He hits the gavel once. His movements are languid, seemingly relaxed, but his eyes are, as ever, watchful.

As the witnesses are already still and silent, it is not much trouble for them to come to order. Judge Nezumi speaks again. “As you know, the accused is Shion, for several crimes against me.” He indicates the plaintiff, who looks less at ease than does the judge.

“The first charge is felony theft.” The judge pauses. Then he and the plaintiff chorus in unison, “He stole our heart.”

“Cliché as it may be,” the plaintiff mutters.

The old woman speaks for the first time. Her voice is harsh and authoritative, with grim undertones of bitterness and what young Nezumi had not realized was desperation. “Guilty!” she says. “Guilty, guilty, guilty.”

Her repeated words sound like the cawing of a carrion crow. “You care about him. You care too much. It is too late for you. Guilty!”

The plaintiff is nodding.

“The prosecution is quite correct,” says judge Nezumi. He swings his gavel, the resulting clunk of wood on wood echoing around the room. The witnesses murmur to each other, but no distinct words can be heard from any of them.

“First count: guilty as charged. The next charge is: high treason.”

“Guilty, guilty, guilty!” cries the old woman triumphantly. “Once of No. 6, always of No. 6.”

“Also true,” says the judge. He raises his gavel, but before he can lower it, a voice rings out.

“Wait!”

A figure has appeared in front of the judge’s podium. It’s Shion himself, shirtless, with slightly mussy hair. Nezumi often imagines him this way, though not on purpose, of course.

“Oh no, not you,” the plaintiff says.

The judge motions for the bailiff. Enter a man with a rope in one hand and overlarge ears: the Fennec Fox.

“Throw him out,” says judge Nezumi, in a bored tone.

“Hey! It’s my trial! Shouldn’t I be in it?” Shion protests. The judge eyes him warily, as if he might do something unwarranted at any moment – like maybe start taking off his pants.

“No. Look at you, you’re not even dressed for court. I find you in contempt. Get out.”

Fennec grips Shion’s arm, but Shion refuses to move.

“Well, that’s not my fault, is it? You imagined me like this,” Shion says.

“Stop breaking the fourth wall, Shion,” the judge says nervously.

“Huh? What’s that?”

“When you remind people that something isn’t real, like this trial,” Fennec explains.

“Well you just did it yourself!” Shion says.

Shion is right – and the courtroom is fading to black at the edges in consequence, as if the whole thing were being squeezed through a cardboard tube. The plaintiff and the judge both glance around uneasily.

“Shit,” the judge mutters. “Okay, look. I’ll let you go sit in the defendant’s seat, if you promise to keep quiet and not talk about reality.”

“Okay,” Shion says easily, allowing Fennec to lead him to his seat. Mercifully for Nezumi, a button-down shirt appears on Shion as he sits down, though his hair remains mussed. Fennec retreats back into the shadowy edges of the room to blur out and stand against the wall.

“Objection!” the old woman protests. “Out, out, out.”

“Overruled,” says the judge, raising his gavel again. “If I try that, he’ll only complain about it. Anyway, as I was saying, he’s guilty of the second count.”

“Waaaait!”

Nezumi lowers the gavel for a second time. “You said you would be quiet.”

“Yes, but I just remembered why I came here in the first place.”

“And why is that, Shion?” the judge says in a tone of exaggerated patience.

“I don’t understand the charges. And also, where’s my lawyer?” Shion says, looking around plaintively.

“You don’t get one.”

“Nezumi, I want a lawyer.”

Shion has his stubborn face on, the one that precedes declarations like There’s a third option, Nezumi, so time to sell your soul to my pretty red eyes and my stupid, hopeful, unrealistic bullshit.

The judge rolls his eyes. “Fine, you can have Rikiga.”

“Excellent!” says Rikiga, standing up. He leaves the gallery and comes to sit beside Shion. Behind the witnesses in the gallery, there’s now a full row of occupied seats. It contains two Eves, a young Nezumi of about twelve years old, and several other Nezumis between the ages of 16 and 18. Their eyes are fixed on Shion.

“Uh –” Shion says as Rikiga takes his new seat, looking pompous and pleased.

“Don’t worry, Shion, my boy. We’ll have you out of here and home free in no time,” Rikiga says confidently.

“But –”

“Now what’s your problem?” judge Nezumi says.

“Explain the charges!”

“Treason? What’s so confusing about that?”

“I thought you were supposed to be a child genius,” the plaintiff comments, mostly to himself. He’s staring straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact with Shion, or anyone in the gallery.

“Treason is a crime against the state or the government, but there is no government,” Shion says in a confused tone.

“You’re not guilty of crimes against the state, you’re guilty of being the state,” the judge explains.

“Huh?”

“You can take the man out of the city, but you can’t take the evil out of the man,” the old woman says.

“Shion is not evil,” Rikiga says. “He’s a veritable angel just for putting up with you, Eve.”

“Just because I used to live in No. 6 –” Shion begins.

“Shut up, Shion,” the judge says. “You’ve already been found guilty, so enough of this bullshit.”

And with that, he finally hits the gavel.

“Third and final charge: Conspiracy to commit murder,” he says.

Shion opens his mouth, but before he can say a thing, the judge adds, “My murder. You’re dangerous to me.”

“I have a question,” Shion announces loudly, before anyone else can speak. “What happens if I’m found guilty of all the charges?”

“Simple. I never return to No. 6. I never see you again,” judge Nezumi says.

The effect of this statement on Shion is immediate. He gasps as if Nezumi had just stabbed him, as he was often wont to do, then stands up, braces himself against the front of the box, and yells, “Nezumi, you promised me. You made a vow. You said, ‘Reunion will come.’ You can’t break that! I believed you, Nezumi. You have to come back, or – or you’ll break my heart.”

“Objection,” the old woman says. “Emotional theatrics not permitted in the court. Statement of defendant requires too much imagination on the part of the judge.”

Plaintiff Nezumi is still refusing to look at Shion, and the judge seems cool and controlled in spite of Shion’s outburst.

“You are even more annoying in my mind than you are in real life,” the judge says.

“No, he’s not. This is perfectly accurate,” says plaintiff Nezumi. Shion blushes ever so slightly.

“Some other me, come up here and mind him,” the judge says. A Nezumi detatches himself from the mass in the gallery, which has swelled to three full rows of occupied seats.

“I got it,” he says.

The new Nezumi looks much more relaxed and open than the judge and the plaintiff, but also more tired. He comes and stands beside Shion, and smooths down some of the messy hair on the back of Shion’s head.

“Hush, now, my stubborn child,” he says. “Let the big boys play out the trial as they always do.”

“What do you mean?” Shion says.

“We’ve been holding this same trial every night for two years now,” minder Nezumi sighs.  
“But every single one of us forgets it in the mornings. And they always find you guilty.”

“They won’t this time,” Shion says with simple conviction. Minder Nezumi just shakes his head, his eyes dark.

“Hey, I’ve got a question.”

“Mm?”

“How come you don’t forget?” Shion asks.

“Me? Well, I’ve banned myself from participating. So I’ve been forgotten myself, which gives me leave to remember what the rest of me forget.”

“You’re banned? But why?”

“That’s enough, Shion. We’re holding up the trial,” minder Nezumi says firmly.  
Shion looks like he wants to protest, but the focus has already swung back to the entire courtroom.

“The charge: conspiracy to commit murder,” the judge says again. “Let the prosecution speak.”

Now that she has an actual opponent, no matter how lecherous and sodden that opponent might be, the old woman goes all out.

“This boy is clearly a danger to you,” she says, gesturing at Shion, who looks quite indignant. “You know he’s from No. 6, and yet you would willingly consort with him? Madness! Didn’t I tell you never to trust anyone other than yourself? I don’t understand him, and neither do you. So how can you possibly begin to trust him? Yet you do! Your brain is broken, boy. Even if he claims to mean no harm, he could hurt you by “accident.” What if he thinks that it’s best that you be brainwashed into complying with all the rules of his wonderful city, eh?”

At this, Shion stands up. Minder Nezumi gently pushes him back down again.

Rikiga lets out a low whistle.

“The defense has something to say?” the judge inquires. The old woman turns a beady eye to Rikiga. A trickle of blood hangs from her chin, because she has spoken so much she didn’t catch it in time.

“This lady sounds like she’s been drinking even more than I usually do,” Rikiga says, waving his arm in the direction of her chin. “If you want us to believe this nonsense, you’d better give us some evidence.”

The judge starts in his seat, as if he can’t believe that Rikiga has managed to put together a coherent counter-statement of some kind.

Licking her lips, the old woman says, “I call Inukashi as my first witness.”

In Nezumi’s mind, Inukashi is even smaller and scrawnier than he is in real life, but he has yellowed, canine fangs, which flash in the light when he speaks. He is accompanied by a large, dark brown dog with large, calm, yellow eyes.

Inukashi stands, coming in to focus. He does not bother to move from his seat; it seems that the witness box will not be used. Or perhaps Inukashi simply doesn’t know where it is he’s supposed to go.

“Tell him,” the old woman says.

Inukashi looks around the courtroom beseechingly, clearly reluctant to speak. He looks out of place, like a little brown field mouse among a lot of sleek, black, pet-store rats. But Nezumi’s grandmother is a fearsome sight even when she isn’t bleeding from the mouth, so Inukashi has to speak.

“I’ve always said it. If you care for someone, you’ve already lost.” Inukashi licks his lips. “That’s just how it is in the West Block.”

“I move to cross-examine,” Rikiga says.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead,” says the judge.

“What if you’re not in the West Block?”

Inukashi looks startled. “You mean, like if you’re in No. 6?” he says cautiously.

“Anywhere,” says Rikiga grandly.

“Well, for someone like me and Nezumi –”

“Sure, lump me in with you, mutt,” minder Nezumi mutters.

“– I s’ppose it would be the same anywhere. You just can’t depend on someone else that way,” Inukashi finishes.

“Huh,” Rikiga says, seeing that with Inukashi’s limited imagination it would be hard to get anything useful out of him. “No further questions.”

Inukashi is ushered out of the witness box by the bailiff.

“The next witness,” the old woman announces, “is Rou.”

Rou, who has no legs, simply floats above his chair instead of standing.

“You,” the old woman says. “Tell them how No. 6 became a bad place.”

Rou frowns. “It was a bad place from the very beginning, we just didn’t know it,” he says. The old woman’s shifty eyes light up; he has played right into her hands. “But what happened is that men became power hungry. They forgot the ideals they claimed to have forged the city on, and began searching for ways to control and despoil. Pride and greed were their downfall.”

“Objection!” Rikiga says. “The history of the city of No. 6 has nothing to do with Shion.”

Rou shakes his head. “But I charged him with rebuilding the city. It would be so easy for history to repeat itself, and for him to become like the rulers who were before him.”

Shion fidgets in his seat, clearly wanting to argue. Minder Nezumi puts a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Shion isn’t like that,” Rikiga says firmly.

“Oh?” the old woman says challengingly. “Then let’s see your evidence.”

“Of course,” Rikiga says, but he’s starting to sweat. Turning to Shion, he says in a low voice, “I haven’t got much to work with, Shion. I admit, it’s going to be tight. But I think I just might have a case for us.”

Once Rou is seated again, Rikiga makes a brief opening statement to the judge. “I submit to you that Shion is not the kind of person who would betray his friend. The rest of the world may be dangerous, but Shion has always stood by Eve, even though he hardly deserves it.”

The plaintiff snorts with derision.

“Well, this is interesting,” minder Nezumi says quietly to Shion. “You’ve never had a lawyer before, and I thought Rikiga would get too drunk to help you. He usually does. But he’s fighting better than I expected. That’s something.”

“To prove my point, I call Shion’s mother to the witness stand,” Rikiga says. Shion groans and puts his face in his hands. Karan gracefully stands.

“As a character witness, I’m not much good, I’m afraid. I’m hardly unbiased,” Karan says, and laughs gently. “But from my observation of my son for 16 years of his life, I can tell you that Shion has never once intentionally harmed anyone. I’d say he’s quite unlikely to do so, really. And what’s more, I know he would gladly die for you, Nezumi. I’ve known that much since I first heard him say your name. And I’d like to remind you that he already sacrificed a comfortable life and his education for you, when you were nothing but a stranger.”

Karan’s tone is gentle and her eyes warm and calm, but it’s easy to see that she has absolute conviction in her words and absolute faith in her son. Shion takes his face out of his hands and quietly says, “Thanks, Mom.”

“Thank you, Ms. Karan,” Rikiga says, accidentally echoing Shion. “I’d like to call Inukashi as my next character witness.”

Inukashi stands up quickly, sighing with annoyance. “Shion is weird,” he says. “Weird in a dangerous way? Nah. Just – weird. He has all these noble and generous ideas. I doubt they’ll work in the real world, but hey. Like Shion’s mama said, Shion ain’t never hurt nobody his whole life. Ya can’t get much less dangerous than that.”

“There you have it,” Rikiga says smugly. “It’s like I’ve been saying. Shion’s innocent. He can’t possibly hurt you, Eve.”

“It’s irrelevant,” the old woman says sharply. “We can debate what this boy from No. 6 will or won’t do all day. I say he will betray Nezumi, and the good drunkards says he won’t. But who cares? The boy could be St. Peter himself, and he would still be dangerous. The fact is, Nezumi’s gone and fallen in love with him. The world doesn’t allow such a thing! It will crush both of them together.”

There’s a fire in this old woman’s eyes, a fire that speaks of madness. Minder Nezumi won’t look directly at her, but Shion stares, fascinated.

“Why is she bleeding like that? Has she got eternal internal perforations?” Shion asks.

“Yes,” says minder Nezumi shortly.

Shion looks at Rikiga expectantly, but it seems that Rikiga has nothing. He takes his hat from his head and twists it nervously.

“Shion is not dangerous. Eve is the dangerous one. Everyone knows it,” he says.

“Is that your final statement?” the judge says. Rikiga nods.

“In that case, the judge says in a bored tone, “I find the accused, Shion, guilty of –”

“Objection!” Shion yells, jumping to his feet.

“Shion, hush. You’re not supposed to say that,” minder Nezumi says.

“But why not? I object!” Shion says indignantly.

“You’re a witness, not a lawyer. No one cares if you object. Besides, it’s already too late.” Minder Nezumi’s voice is almost sad, even though in his eyes this outcome was inevitable.

“No, it’s not. Make me a lawyer, because I have something to say,” Shion says.

“You already have a perfectly good public defender,” the judge says. Rikiga yelps as he realizes that “public defender” means he’s not getting paid.

“But you can tell me whatever inane thing it is you have to say anyway,” says the judge.

“I want to conference with my lawyer,” Shion says. “We’re not done yet.”

“That’s a highly irregular procedure.” The judge’s eyes are unreadable.

“I don’t care. Rikiga got appointed half-way through the trial. We didn’t have any time to prepare. Come on, give us five minutes.”

“Objection!” cries the old woman.

“Overruled,” the judge says promptly. “Fine, Shion, have your little tea party. Raise the house lights, it’s the intermission.” He hits the gavel for good measure. Plaintiff Nezumi looks daggers at him, but minder Nezumi opens his mouth in surprise.

“I can’t believe it! He actually let you do it.” He shakes his head. “Boy, have you done a number on us.”

As he speaks, the edges of the courtroom seem to close in on the three of them: Rikiga, minder Nezumi, and Shion. It is like a curtain of darkness closing in, so that the judge, the opposing party, and the gallery can still be vaguely seen in the gloom, but not unless you strain your eyes.

“Alright, guys, we can think of something,” Shion says, with determination. “I won’t let Nezumi break his promise to me. Not tonight. Not ever.”

“Whatever makes you think he wants to keep it?” minder Nezumi asks.

“Oh, that’s easy. If he were sure he didn’t, he wouldn’t be having this trail,” Shion says blithely. “And, you’re here. You know, I’ve been trying to figure that out. You, the plaintiff, and the judge are all different, somehow. And all the ones in the audience aren’t the same either.” He gestures out into the darkness. His hand disappears into it, and he yelps; it’s thick and sticky, like a giant black cobweb. After withdrawing his hand, Shion continues. “I think the judge must be now Nezumi, the one who is traveling on the road right now, and trying to make up his mind about whether it’s time to go back or not. And you, you’re nice Nezumi, that worries about me sometimes. But I don’t know who the plaintiff is. He doesn’t talk enough for me to be able to tell.”

“Nice Nezumi?” says minder Nezumi indignantly. “ _Nice_ Nezumi? Shion, please.”

“Well, what are you, then?”

Minder Nezumi hesitates, then says in a low voice, his eyes fixed on the ground, “I’m the Nezumi who loves you.”

“But doesn’t now Nezumi love me too?” Shion says, looking worried.

“Yes, but he won’t admit it,” minder Nezumi says, flashing Shion a flippant grin. “Me, I know it’s foolish to deny it. Too much has happened. I’m the Nezumi who saved you from being taken to the Correctional Facility, not because I had to pay a debt, but because I knew I couldn’t let you die. I’m the one who kissed the prostitute in the alley for you, and imagined I was kissing you instead. I’m the one who took a bullet for you.”

Shion ignores the drama of this declaration and goes straight to the essential: “Great! Let’s get you in the witness box.”

Rikiga nods, looking pleased with the idea.

Shaking his head, Nezumi says, “I can’t, remember? I won’t let me.”

Both Shion and Rikiga frown, disappointed.

“Wait,” Shion says. “Could there be someone in the audience who could help us?”

“You mean, another one of me who is stupid enough to say what I just told you in front of the judge?”

“Exactly,” Shion says. “Hey – why are they all here, anyway?”

Minder Nezumi sighs. “They’re here for you, Shion. They all want you to know them. It’s pathetic, isn’t it?”

“One minute remaining!” the judge calls, his voice muffled through the dark. Shion bites his bottom lip.

“Nezumi, you know yourself better than I do. Tell us one thing we could say to get you to even consider returning.”

Minder Nezumi looks torn. “Shion, I can’t –”

“Yes, you can,” Shion says. “Or do you want to watch this trial again tomorrow?”

Nezumi’s mouth twists downward. “Fine,” he says. “Tell me it’s worth it, Shion.” There is a note of pleading in his voice.

“Huh?”

“The danger. Tell me it’s worth it – to be loved.” As he speaks, he looks down, bangs falling over his eyes. Shion reaches out as if to take his hand, but then thinks better of it.

“Rikiga, you got that?”

“Do I ever.”

“Great,” says Shion. “Let’s do this.”

As slowly as it advanced, the wall of darkness draws back from the three of them, revealing the rest of the court. The old woman has cleaned her face off again and is calmly staring them down, while the plaintiff has his head propped up on one hand, staring off into the distance. The only people showing any encouragement or hope for the defense are Karan and bee Safu, who are smiling encouragingly.

“So,” says the judge, “have you got a case?”

Rikiga stands and clears his throat, placing his hat back on his head. “Ladies and gentlemen of the – the audience, Judge Eve, I believe I have a case for you. I say that Shion is dangerous to you, for some of the reasons you supplied –”

The plaintiff laughs bitterly, then quickly puts his hand over his mouth, while the old woman gives a brief and rather nasty smile.

“– But,” Rikiga continues, undaunted by the audience’s derision, “But I believe that for Eve, the decision to be with him anyway would be worth it.”

The smile drops from plaintiff Nezumi’s face. A great murmur arises from the audience; the Nezumis in the gallery are no longer silent. Their quiet exclamations swell until the judge has to bang the gavel and say, with great relish, “Order in the court!”  
The mumbling dies away. Rikiga looks extremely pleased with himself, as if he had been the one to come up with the idea in the first place.

The old woman is not nearly as impressed as her client is. “A boy, more important than your own life? You would say that, you cosseted, overfed pig.”

Rikiga is undaunted by her insults, no doubt used to worse from the women he chases and then abandons on a regular basis. “I never said Shion was more important than Eve’s life. I said it was worth risking it to be with him. And I’ll tell you why. Eve admitted it himself – he’s in love with Shion. Shion also loves Eve. So, they should be together. Or else, Eve will die alone and unhappy. What’s the point of living if you don’t feel alive?”

“Fine and noble words,” the old woman sneers. “Fine and noble bullshit, I say.”

“Excuse me,” Rikiga says with great dignity, “I would like to present my witnesses.”  
The old woman shuts her mouth with a huff.

“I call… Inukashi.”

Looking peeved, Inukashi stands up. The dog at his feet doesn’t bother standing this time; she stays under his chair with her head on her paws.

“Would you guys quit callin’ on me, already?” Inukashi complains. “Just because I’m the only one here from the West Block –”

“Just get on with it,” says the judge, and Inukashi scowls.

“Listen good, everyone, ‘cause I’m only gonna say this once. And I don’t wanna be cross-examined or nothing.” At a grudging nod from the judge, he continues. “I don’t know if I believe in this mushy love crap. But I’ll tell ya somethin’. I’m gonna raise baby Shionn as best I can, even if it kills me. Nezumi – your Shion ain’t half as useless as mine. But if bein’ round him makes you feel as good as bein’ round my Shionn makes me, then you oughta get your ass back to him real quick ‘fore he grows up and forgets about you.”

Inukashi’s eyes dart around the room, as if he expects to be attacked at any moment. “I ain’t sayin’ Shion ain’t gonna get you killed in the end, ‘cause he prolly is. I’m just agreein’ with Rikiga, is all.”

The dog at his feet gives a sharp bark. “Thanks, Mum,” says Inukashi, and he sits down.

The gallery is dead silent. The silence thrums, as if with paragraphs of unsaid words, by every single Nezumi in the 15 full rows of seats.

“That’s all very well for the dogsbody,” the old woman says, prompting another scowl from Inukashi, “but we’re talking about Nezumi.”

She sounds just as belligerent as she did before, but her voice echoes thinly around the room, drowned out by the weight of the unsaid.

Rikiga looks over the audience with a critical eye. Before he can call on anyone, two Eves stand. The first Eve is dressed in full Ophelia regalia, with perfect makeup and hair. The dress he wears clean and new and draping perfectly over his body. The second Eve, however, is totally disheveled. He is dressed as Juliet, but his dress is torn in several places, revealing blood-stained petticoats and a deflated hoop skirt. His hair falls over his face, half-hiding a spectacular black eye and a split lip. On his exposed forearms, bruises in the shape of fingers are clearly visible.

Both Eves open their mouths and speak as one. “We always play love, but we have never known it.” The voice of the first Eve is beautiful and melodic; the voice of the second Eve, though unmistakably feminine, is raw and cracked, as if he had been screaming. Both of them have an air of unreality about them, of drama. Although they speak Nezumi’s sentiments, they are not using his own words.

Now the first Eve speaks alone. “Isn’t it nice to play a woman so loved than men would die for her?”

Then, the second Eve. “And yet, somehow it’s always us who gets killed in the end. Ophelia loved Hamlet and Polonious so much that she spared everyone the trouble and killed herself.”

“If the feelings don’t get you, stupid misunderstandings will do it,” Ophelia Eve says, looking at the other Eve’s Juliet costume. “And yet.”

“And yet?” Juliet Eve sounds weary, despairing. He clutches the ragged hem of his dress with both hands.

“And yet, Juliet knew love before she died. She slept with her beloved. And what about us?”

“We’ve slept beside him.”

“But not with him.”

“He didn’t know how we felt. At least Romeo knew –”

Juliet Eve cuts off his counterpart. “Knew what? They weren’t in love, they were in lust. Look at me if you’ve forgotten what lust can do.” He gestures up and down his body. “You know how this happened. You remember, don’t you?”

“But this is different,” Ophelia Eve insists. “Lust burns itself out in hours, minutes sometimes. But Shion is waiting for us. He doesn’t just love the beautiful Eve, he loves Nezumi.”

“Nezumi is not that hard to look at either.”

“But he’s hard to get along with.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Listen to me,” Ophelia Eve pleads. “Personne n’est personne. There is always somebody. We deserve some good in our lives. Shion is good. He’s the only good we know.”

The two Eves fall silent, look at each other, nod, and then speak in unison once again. “Don’t you think it’s our turn to be loved?”

And with that, both of them take their seats.

“What a prima donna,” says minder Nezumi.

The old woman seems to have had the same thought. “You don’t live in a fairytale, boy. You can't just put on a dress and expect love to come to you. You're owed nothing. Don’t expect the universe to just give him to you. There’s nothing but pain and misery out there, I tell you.”

Shion stands up. The Nezumi beside him tenses, as if he knows what’s coming.

“Pardon me,” Shion says politely, “But didn’t you have a chance to fall in love and live happily before your village was taken over by No. 6?”

There is a collective intake of breath from the crowd. With so many of them present, it sounds like a very loud rolling sigh, like a wave washing up onto the shore.

Limited as she is by Nezumi’s fading recollections of her, the old woman can only say, “I wasn’t always this way, whelp. You think my heart is carved in stone? Well, there’s a reason for it, I tell you.”

Rikiga interrupts this weak reply to say, “The defense recognizes twelve-year-old Nezumi.”

A young Nezumi stands. He is soaking wet, his hair plastered to his forehead. His shoulder is bleeding, and he’s clutching it with his free hand. “I wasn’t always like this, either,” he says in a low voice. “But I’m alone, and I got hurt anyway. I don’t even know why I’m not dead yet.”

He stands there dripping and bleeding, looking totally pathetic. Suddenly, bandages appear on his shoulder, then an overlarge, handmaid wool sweater envelops his bony frame, and he is completely dry. His hair fluffs out.

“I’m alive!” he exclaims, the wonder in his voice completely genuine. He looks around him, and finds a small white box on the seat behind him. As he holds it up, the crowd can see it’s a first aid kit.

“This is why,” he says. “This is why.”

And then he sits down.

“I rest my case,” says Rikiga.

The silence that’s been building in the room suddenly breaks open.

“Ahahahaha!” Inukashi laughs, raucous and uninhibited. “He’s right, he’s right! We’re not gonna die after all.”

The two Eves chorus, “It began there. That’s the first page. The curtain’s up; you can’t just walk off the stage.”

Other Nezumis throw in their opinions, loudly.

“You’ll get us killed, you stupid child!”

“You’re asking for a miracle, you idiot.”

“It’s too late for us. We’re too dumb to live.”

“Huh, if you believe that bullshit you might as well put your knife down and go dance around the holy day.”

Even minder Nezumi is yelling, “Take that, you stupid fuck!”

The judge bangs his gavel and yells “Order, order!” but not a single Nezumi pays him any mind.

As for the old woman, she is positively livid. “Objection! Objection! Everything he says is lies!” she screams. “You fool! You idiot! You worthless piece of shit! You are going to die!” Blood pours from her mouth, runs over her chin, and stains her clothing. The hilt of a knife blooms from her chest, creating a huge red stain down the front of her dress. Her eyes are wide and staring, starting to glaze over. Her voice echoes over the crowd, getting louder and louder, drowning out all the other voices. Beside her, the plaintiff slides from his chair onto his knees, putting his hands over his ears.

Shion stands, his eyes fixed on the plaintiff. He cuts through the noise – doesn’t he always? – with three quiet words. “I understand, now.”

The noise filling the courtroom slowly dies away, and the lights dim. The plaintiff kneels in a pool of pale white light, with Shion standing just at the edge of it. The barriers between them fall away. Slowly, Shion walks over to the Nezumi huddled in on himself on the ground.

The room is dead silent. It is as if everyone else has vanished.

“I understand, now,” Shion says again. I know who you are. You’re the Nezumi who left.”

Nezumi lifts his face and looks at Shion pleadingly. He is around 16 years old, but his voice has more in common with his 12 year-old self than it does with the voice of the judge or the minder. “You understand, don’t you? You understand, right, Shion?”

“You’re afraid,” Shion says gently. “I know. But one of your other selves was the one who said it’d be worth it to come back.”

“I know,” Nezumi says impatiently, “but so what? If you die on me, and I’m alone again, I’ll be even worse off than before. Shion, don’t you see? No matter what I do, I’m doomed. If I stay here, I’ll kill myself. If I go home, you’ll kill me. What am I supposed to do?”

Shion reaches out to Nezumi’s hand, and this time, he takes it. “You’re the one who always says it’s useless to make plans for the future. Because you might die at any minute. That’s why you have to do what your heart wants you to do right now.”

“But what if? What if? Tell me, Shion. I can’t stand this. I’m so weak. I hate this.” Nezumi presses his forehead to the back of Shion’s hand.

“Nezumi, I will never leave you. You’re the wanderer, and I’m the steadfast one. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

“But –”

“I will never leave you,” Shion repeats, his calm certainty filling his voice.

“You’re not with me right now, are you?” Nezumi says angrily, clenching his fists. The hand holding Shion’s leaves angry nail marks on Shion’s skin.

“Sure I am. I’m right here,” Shion says easily.

“In my mind?”

The lights flicker.

“Shion, it’s not enough.”

“I know,” Shion replies simply. “So come back. What are you waiting for? Nothing else matters.”

Nezumi slowly brigs Shion’s hand down to his cheek. He holds it there for a moment, then kisses it softly. Then he stands up and faces Shion full-on.

There is suddenly a gavel in his hand, and a block beside them. Without even looking at it, Nezumi hits it once.

“Innocent,” he says softly. “Cleared of all charges.”

He drops the gavel carelessly on the block. Stepping forward, he wraps his arms tightly around Shion and buries his face in the crook of Shion’s neck. Shion raises his arms to hug Nezumi in return, and they stand there, pressed tightly together, for long minutes. Slowly, the scene fades to black.

**Author's Note:**

> -"Shion, stop breaking the fourth wall" is an inside joke with my friend Emme. I know it doesn't really fit here, but ah well.  
> - _Personne n'est personne_ translates to no-one is nobody, and it's from the musical Le Roi Soleil.  
>  -I don't like the way "Minder Nezumi" sounds, but I wanted to make it clear that the Nezumi that Shion spoke to at the end was The Nezumi, not just another copy of him.  
> -The old woman. She's pretty gruesome. I don't really imagine that the real old woman who took care of Nezumi would sound exactly like this, but she's been distorted in Nezumi's memory. Remember, he was pretty young when he knew her.  
> -Bee Safu: I thought that she would also have been distorted by Nezumi's memory, and fused with Elyurias, especially if you've only watched the anime. Originally she had something to say, but this fic is so long that I had to cut it out. I wish I could do away with the part from Rou, too, but I had enough of editing so it had to stay.


End file.
